And full speed ahead
Garrison Keillor thinks he can see the individual trees inside the forest, but all he is actually seeing the fecal matter stuck to his eyelashes.
Three-hundred thousand bikers spent Memorial Day weekend roaring around Washington in tribute to our war dead, and I stood on Constitution Avenue Sunday afternoon watching a river of them go by, waiting for a gap in the procession so I could cross over to the Mall and look at pictures. The street had been closed off for them and they motored on by, some flying the Stars and Stripes and the black MIA-POW flag, honking, revving their engines, an endless celebration of internal combustion.
A patriotic bike rally is sort of like a patriotic toilet-papering or patriotic graffiti; the patriotism somehow gets lost in the sheer irritation of the thing. Somehow a person associates Memorial Day with long moments of silence when you summon up mental images of men huddled together on LSTs and pilots revving up B-24s and infantrymen crouched behind piles of rubble steeling themselves for the next push.
You don’t quite see the connection between that and these fat men with ponytails on Harleys. After hearing a few thousand bikes go by, you think maybe we could airlift these gentlemen to Baghdad to show their support of the troops in a more tangible way. It took 20 minutes until a gap appeared and then a mob of us pedestrians flooded across the street and the parade of bikes had to stop for us, and on we went to show our patriotism by looking at exhibits at the Smithsonian or, in my case, hiking around the National Gallery, which, after you’ve watched a few thousand Harleys pass, seems like an outpost of civilization.
Yes, he is talking about the Rolling Thunder group. Yes, he is talking about them being “chickenhawks”, despite unmistakable fact that the majority of their membership are veterans. Methinks Keillor should have tried reading the back of their vests while waiting all that time to cross the street. Though I guess it must be difficult to read looking down your nose, as he is so fond of doing.
Yes, he is an ass. But you had probably already guessed that by now.
Found at Say Anything